Interview with the Immortals

Prompt: Cloaked

old rembrandt man with headphones

In which Globe journalist Lindsay Hatcher shares his exclusive individual interviews with members of the six-person team, The Immortals.

Lindsay Hatcher: Hello, Sable. So are the Immortals like The Avengers or The Guardians of the Galaxy? What are your plans to save the world?

Sable:  We aren’t heroes. Who said we were heroes? We are simply people who can’t die. We don’t care about saving the world. We want to have a lark.

LH: A lark?

Sable: We want adventures. See the world. Have fun. Get scared. Have a lark.

LH: Want adventures, or need them?

Sable: What’s the difference?

LH: Where did you come from? It’s hard to tell from your appearance. I thought you were a boy at first.

Sable: It doesn’t matter. I think my parents were artists. I forget.


LH: Hi, Ivy. You are the youngest member of the Immortals. How did you happen to join their group?

Ivy: When I woke up, there was Sable. She helped me move from the cave into the light, and watched over me while I slept. She also said she would help me find my cat, who came with me to the cave.

LH: Have you been on any adventures?

Ivy: Sable says I’m not ready. Anyway, we have to wait for a couple of the others to get back. So I’m going to learn to ride a horse.


LH: Goff, as the eldest Immortal, do you guide and counsel the younger ones?

Goff: Hell, no.

LH: Why not? Surely you’ve gathered a lot of wisdom in your— how many years?

Goff: Countless years. I can’t remember how long. That happens when you get older, you forget things.

LH: As their leader, do you make the decisions about where you’ll go next?

Goff: I’m not their leader. I know about places, but I don’t tell anyone what to do. I’ve learned to keep my head down with this group.

LH: You look like you’ve been somewhere… possibly Medieval, with the leather cloak and leggings.

Goff: This is just my outfit of choice. I get bored trying to pick out something new to wear every day, for millennia.


LH: Hello, Jonah. How long have you been one of the Immortals?

Jonah: Time kind of loses meaning, you know? So, a very long time, longer than anyone other than Goff.

LH: He says he is not your leader or guide. Who is?

Jonah: We are ostensibly a democracy, though I find if you take command, others follow.

LH: So you are the leader of the Immortals?

Jonah: No.


LH: Donny, why are you laughing?

Donny: This sucks. So I laugh.

LH: I see you have wings. None of the other Immortals have wings. Do you each have special talents?

Donny: We have the same special talent— you can’t kill us. We come back. And these aren’t real wings; they’re a prop. Like a hat or a fake beard.


LH: Hello, Harp. How many adventures have you been on with the Immortals?

Harp: Six or seven. Sometimes it is hard to coordinate. We all have to begin at the cave at the same time. It can take years. So while I wait I go do my own thing.

LH: You have your own adventures separately from the Immortals?

Harp: Of course. We aren’t joined at the hip. You could get tired of a person’s face or beard or accent over the course of a hundred years or so. But they aren’t adventures, or “larks”, as Sable insists on calling them. I just go hang out somewhere interesting, see what’s going on, learn things.

LH: Do all the Immortals go back and have individual adventures?

Harp: I have no idea. Ask them.


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Retreat

Prompt: Retreat

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I was losing the battle. My hair follicles were retreating from the front of my head. All of my dedicated leadership, my fearless and sympathetic role as commander, and my denouncements of the enemy had no effect on my army. They marched backwards. I was at once furious and mystified.

I could call them cowards, but perhaps their view, their sacrifice could only be understood if one was on in the trenches with them, or in this case, on my scalp. Perhaps conditions had been too formidable, losses too heavy, morale too weak, to carry on with bayonets at the ready.

They left behind a no-man’s land: A barren wasteland dotted with skeletal, ashen, and fallen trees, the remnants of their comrades, wisps of gun smoke, and memories of courage, recklessness, and loss of hope.

I, as commander, had to face reality. I had decisions to make. Did I continue to allow the slow sacrifice of my loyal regiment, or did I concede defeat? Did I wave the white flag, or urge my soldiers to stand up, shoulder to shoulder, and fight another day?

A comb-over, or a total head shave?

What would Jesus do?